


Crystalline

by audreycritter



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batdad, Chandelier, Gen, Hospital Visit, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Robin!Dick, irreparable damage to ceiling light fixtures, the land of forehead kisses, tw: child injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 09:01:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14040771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreycritter/pseuds/audreycritter
Summary: A long weekend kicks off in the worst way when Dick has an accident. Bruce is used to handling emergencies, but it’s a bit harder when it’s his son instead of a stranger.Even if he’s not a father. Because he’s not, right?





	Crystalline

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jerseydevious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jerseydevious/gifts).



> warning: angst hurt with some comfort, depiction of a traumatic emergency. good but young batdad, smol Robin!Dick.

The glittering sound of swaying crystals, tinkling like ice on glass, gave him away. Bruce knew without looking up that Dick was directly above him, tangled black hair hanging in his face.

Bruce sipped his coffee and glanced over the newspaper. It made him feel old, older than twenty-six, and he liked the feeling. He studied the stock reports, which he didn’t really need to do because he’d looked at more current numbers on a laptop an hour ago, and let the milky sweet taste of the coffee roll around in his mouth.

“Dick.” He flipped a page over, tucking the thin gray newsheet back with a practiced fold.

“Aw, crud muffins,” the young voice answered. “I’m gonna do it one day, y’know. Surprise you.”

“Get down,” Bruce answered, finishing off his coffee. There was society news about a date he’d gone on, and he glanced over it with an inward sigh. He supposed he should send flowers or something and cancel the next date, before things looked too serious. “It isn’t safe.”

“You done?” Dick asked, his voice just slightly nearer to Bruce’s head. “Good.”

It took a split second to drop the paper. Dick landed on his stomach on Bruce’s extended arm with a laughing _oof_ and clambered up onto Bruce’s shoulders, where he perched and let out a delighted crow.

“I think we’re done watching _Hook_ for a while. What would you have done if I hadn’t caught you.” Bruce kept his tone casual to downplay the dozen or so beats his heart had skipped. His ribs were aching.

“Landed on my feet,” Dick answered, leaning over so his face was upside down in the top range of Bruce’s vision. His grin, even flipped over, was toothy and mischievous. “It’s not far. You’re just jealous ‘cause it won’t hold you, ya big lug.”

“Hm,” Bruce crouched to retrieve the paper. Dick kept his balance, partly by wrapping his arms around Bruce’s head. “You’re in a good mood today.”

“It’s the weekend,” Dick settled his chin in Bruce’s hair. He kicked his feet idly against Bruce’s chest. Bruce was starting to feel like his body wasn’t really his anymore. “And Monday’s a holiday so no school.”

“I thought you liked school,” Bruce tried to drink his coffee again and frowned at the bottom of the empty mug. “Hn.”

“I do! Most o’ the time. But it’s better here with you.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with tonight, would it?” Bruce ventured. “Because Alfred prepared dinner and put it in the fridge.”

“Br _uce_ ,” Dick whined. Bruce could imagine the scrunched up pout on his face. “I like Alfred’s food, but you _promised_.” He took a breath and launched into a defense without pauses between his words. “ _You said_ when Al had another night off, we could get pizza and I could pick out all the toppings on my own and it would be a regular sized one because I _can_ eat it all, I can, and you said you’d let me tip the driver like a hundred dollars and you said keeping your word was important, as important almost as Batman and Ro-”

“Dick,” Bruce said for the third time, finally cutting him off. “I was joking.”

“Oh.” Dick deflated, sagging even more heavily against Bruce’s head. Bruce was getting a crick in his neck. “You tell the worst jokes,” Dick grumbled.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Bruce said. “Pax?”

“Pax,” Dick agreed glumly, his arms limp at his sides. Then he perked up. “Hey, Bruce. What do you call a bear with no teeth?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce said.

“A gummy bear,” Dick whispered, with a shrieky giggle that he swallowed as he went limp. Bruce caught him as he toppled over Bruce’s shoulder and set him on his feet, where Dick sank to the floor still laughing.

“It’s not that funny, Dick,” Bruce said, though he was smiling.

Dick flopped back on the rug, an arm thrown over his eyes. “Are you kidding?” he gasped. “It’s _hilarious_. You have no sense of humor.”

“I do have work to do, though,” Bruce said, stepping over him. “If we’re going to hang out tonight”

“Aww,” Dick propped himself up on his elbows. “Work fast! We’ve only got three days!”

“I’ll go as fast as I can,” Bruce said, and he meant it. “Why don’t you work on that pizza order?”

* * *

It was noon and he still wasn’t done. Dick had been in and out of the study a half-dozen times— with books, with a flashlight to sit under the desk, with balls he juggled until he dropped one and Bruce snapped at him for goofing off and almost upsetting another cup of coffee. He regretted it.

He hadn’t come back since that and Bruce was trying to finish reading over the millionth page of fine print and sign off on the revisions of a contract, the need to go apologize gnawing at him. If he could only speed through the last couple pages, he’d be _done_ , and then he could find Dick and make things right and they could—

A thunderous crash from outside the study had him on his feet in a second, caught between terror and annoyance at the interruption when he was so close to—

Then, the scream.

It was high and animalistic, a sound belonging more to his night life in Gotham, seared with pain.

All annoyance fled from his mind. He skidded on his socks in the hall outside the study, sprinting toward the sound faster than he thought he’d ever moved before. The worst possibilities flooded his mind, ratcheting up as the scream abruptly cut off.

 _Oh, no, please, no, no, no, no,_ surged through him in one frantic, directionless prayer when he burst from the hallway into the foyer.

Half the chandelier was on the ground, a twisted wreckage of broken crystals and bent arms. Somewhere in the middle of all of it was Dick, panting and crying.

“Dick,” Bruce navigated through the mess in a driving line, getting to the boy without disturbing how the chandelier had settled. Dick was partially on top of a bent section, partly underneath another. His skin was ghost white, his too-long curls stuck to his face. Bruce brushed them out of the way. “Dickie, where…”

He meant to ask him where it hurt.

There was blood on the rug.

There was blood dripping from Dick’s body onto the rug.

The inside of Bruce seized with a deadly dread and for a second he thought he was going to be sick. It was Dick’s panicked gulps for air that pulled him back into the moment, into what he needed to do. He almost slipped away again because there was blood on the rug, the puddle seeping an irregular stain into the fibers.

“Bru…Bru,” Dick stuttered, with a small sob. “Bruce.”

“Shhh,” Bruce said automatically, training kicking in and overriding his total lack of calm. “Shh, Dickie. I’m right here. It’s going to be okay.”

He looked around desperately, trying to see what he could move out of the way without hurting him more.

“Alright, alright,” Bruce heard himself saying. “Okay. I’m right here.”

“I’m sorry,” Dick said, with a wheezy cry. “I’m sorry, Bruce, I’m sorry.”

“Bruce, where is he bleeding?”

Alfred’s voice cut into the waves of disordered thoughts, serious and right behind him.

“Uh,” Bruce said. His training was not kicking in after all and he felt his own oxygen supply cutting off; Dick now looked ashy and tiny moans were escaping him.

For a second, Bruce was certain he was going to pass out. The edges of his vision were going black and then Dick squirmed, from either pain or fear, and wailed, wordless and high.

Bruce felt like his entire world was collapsing with that cry, but it also prodded him like a hot poker into actual action. He ducked down beneath Dick to examine the part of his body directly over the blood.

“Emergency services have been phoned,” Alfred said, pressing a clean towel into his hand.

“It’s a laceration on his chest, a few inches long. I can’t tell how deep,” Bruce said. “I don’t see any puncture wounds.”

“I want up,” Dick gasped, when Bruce pressed the towel to his chest. “I want up, get me off, please, Bruce, pick me up.”

“I can’t, chum,” Bruce said, sitting down in the middle of the mess. “I’ll stay right here with you. Can you move your toes for me?”

“Don’t wanna,” Dick said, shaking his head. “Please, Bruce. It really hurts.”

“I know, I know,” Bruce soothed, his voice cracking. “Al, how long did they say?”

“They didn’t, sir,” Alfred answered.

“Okay, kiddo, you need to hold still. I don’t know if you hurt your back or neck when you landed. I’ll stay right here.” Bruce brushed hair off Dick’s face again and this time, sticky sweat held it back. “Can you tell me what hurts?”

“My chest,” Dick whimpered. “And everything, and I fell, Bruce, I fell and…”

“It’s alright, Dick, it’s alright,” Bruce said, knowing this to be the opposite of the truth. “You’re going to be fine.”

“I fell, I fell.” Dick was weeping in earnest now, his breath coming in terrified little hisses. “I fell, I fell.”

“Dick,” Bruce said. It was hard to talk, and it wasn’t fear exactly, though he recognized Dick’s. There was a sheer, cruel helplessness paralyzing him and his eyes were full of tears.

“Bruce, you need to calm him down,” Alfred said quietly, a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m trying,” Bruce snapped, and the hand retreated quickly.

“Take a breath,” Alfred said. Dick was sobbing, deaf to the both of them. “You know how. And you must calm him, right now, or let me.”

“I can,” Bruce said, deflating. He used his free hand to scrub at his face while he drew in a full breath. “I can.”

The howl of emergency sirens blipped from faraway outside, a warning before they took the turn to the manor. Alfred hurried around the broken chandelier, presumably to open the gate.

“Dickie,” Bruce tried again gently. “Dick, chum.” He wrapped his hand around one of Dick’s small ones; the tiny fingers squeezed his hand in return. “You’re going to be alright, chum. I’m right here. Breathe, in and out.”

Dick struggled to comply, and Bruce bent his head so their foreheads were touching. It seemed to help.

Then the front door opened after a series of hard knocks and two EMTs stepped into the foyer, bags of equipment in their hands. One of them began speaking into a radio almost immediately.

“Do I have to ride by myself?” Dick asked, his eyes widening when Bruce scooted back to let the EMT work. The man was asking Dick questions but Dick ignored him, grip tightening on Bruce’s hand. “Bruce?”

“Right here, chum,” Bruce answered. “I’ll ride with you.”

Every noise Dick made while they moved him to a spinal board was a knife to Bruce’s heart. When they were finally on the ambulance, Bruce cramped into the space on one side, he couldn’t stand it anymore. Dick looked so tiny strapped down, his form immobilized and his tee cut off to make room for the gauze taped to his chest. Bruce brushed his hair back for what felt like the hundredth time and then pressed a kiss to Dick’s forehead.

“B,” came the very small voice, as the ambulance doors slammed shut. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Dick,” Bruce said, steeped in self-reproach. He should have been stricter, he should have set firmer boundaries, he shouldn’t have treated it like a joke between them.

He should have been acting like a father, even if he wasn’t one.

“Shh,” he said, letting Dick cling to his hand again. “It’s not your fault.”

* * *

The worst part, after getting to the hospital, ended up being the battery of tests themselves. Bruce either waited outside the room for each one, or tried to get Dick to hold still for the others.

Dick himself was in good spirits, though slightly subdued, as soon as surrounded by people— the doctors, nurses, orderlies. He didn’t seem to be capable of an interaction where he wasn’t trying to make somebody smile and it worked. They were all charmed, all giving Bruce kind and reassuring nods rather than the cold criticism he’d been braced to field.

“What a pleasant little fellow,” one nurse said, patting Dick’s cheek. “You made my day, sweetheart. I hope you feel better soon.”

Everyone seemed to agree with her.

It was hours later that they were discharged. Bruce was sure they’d keep them overnight, but Dick passed scan after scan and test after test with flying colors. In the end, the worst damage ended up being the stitched gash on his chest and some bruises.

“Lucky little guy,” the last doctor said, signing the release paper. “Let’s keep our feet on the ground from now on, shall we?”

Dick flashed Bruce a grin so sly and delighted that despite the circumstances, Bruce almost barked a laugh. He had to cough into his arm to hide it, the sudden release of pent-up emotion turning to actual tears in his eyes just as quickly, so he looked thoroughly like a disaster when the doctor handed him the papers.

“Tylenol,” he said. “Take it easy for a few days, don’t get the sutures wet. The nurse will go over all this with you.”

It was dark outside and long past dinner when they climbed into the back of a town car, Alfred at the wheel. Dick fell asleep curled against Bruce almost immediately.

Dick slept the whole forty minute trip home and Bruce carried him up the steps, drinking in every second of the warm little body in his arms and the breath tickling his neck.

“Movie,” Dick mumbled, when Bruce was at the foot of the interior stairs. “And food. M’hungry.”

“You got it, pup,” Bruce said, rerouting toward the den. He settled him on the couch with a promise to get some food, and went to the kitchen.

The kitchen was where Alfred found him, slumped at the work table with his head in his hands, trying to find a way to unlatch the vice-grip his chest was in. He sounded ragged to his own ears, his words tattered and thin.

“He…he…he could have…”

Alfred sat next to him and firmly but gently took his hands, pulling them away from his face and ducking to catch his eye.

“Master Bruce,” he said, his tone fond. “He’s quite alright and on the mend. You’ve had an afternoon, that’s for certain, the both of you.”

Bruce nodded and gave a shaky exhale. He closed his eyes for a moment and reminded himself the day wasn’t over. “I told him I’d get something for dinner. I need…to…and your night off…I’m sorry, Al, I should have…”

“I’ve put in an order for pizza,” Alfred said, rising and patting Bruce’s head as he passed by. “Don’t fret over my evening plans. There are things that take priority, and a circumstance like this is one of them.”

“Al,” Bruce said, voice strained. “I…”

“You’ll stop blaming yourself,” Alfred said, in a way that brooked no argument. “And you’ll keep Master Richard company the remainder of the evening, for his sake and your own. It is, I have found, the best balm for these things, though you haven’t asked for my counsel. You have it anyway, to do with it what you will.”

“What would I do without you, Al,” Bruce said, running a hand over his face and feeling far older than his twenty-six years. This time, it wasn’t a pleasant sensation.

“I shudder to think,” Alfred said, with a small and wry smile, from where he was filling an electric kettle. “Go on. And please, if you would, reassure him I discovered his toppings list.”

Bruce returned to the den and kicked off his shoes. Dick had the remote in his hand and had already started watching cartoons, and he climbed over to curl up on Bruce’s lap as soon as Bruce sat back.

“Alfred ordered your pizza,” he said, and Dick hummed happily. “I’m glad you’re okay, chum.”

“Me, too,” Dick said, tucking his head under Bruce’s chin while his eyes were on the screen. “I’m sorry, Bruce.”

“Shh,” Bruce said. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“But it’ll be expensive,” Dick protested. “To fix it?”

“Honestly, kiddo,” Bruce said, “I hadn’t even thought about it at all. I was mostly worried about you.”

“I’m sorry about missing patrol,” Dick said. “I know we needed to.”

“Gotham will be okay for one night. I’ll go out tomorrow, while you keep Alfred company.” It must have been a sign of how much he’d been affected that Bruce realized he hadn’t even thought about the night off until Dick mentioned it. They were both silent, watching the animated story on the TV, for a few minutes.

“I kind of fell apart back there,” Dick said, too self-conscious and aware for a kid his age. Bruce thought so, anyway, though he wasn’t really sure. “I’m okay now, though.”

In answer, Bruce wrapped his arms around Dick’s little body and held him there, like he could keep him from ever falling again if he just held tightly enough.

* * *

It was a small voice that woke him from a nightmare full of screaming, rather than the other way around. Bruce sat up abruptly, peering into the darkness around his bed. Dick was climbing into the bed without asking, tear-tracks visible on his cheeks in the pale light from dim lamp.

“I’m sleepin’ in here because it’s more comfortable,” Dick mumbled, wriggling up and pulling Bruce’s arm around him like a roll-bar. Then, with a sniff, he added, “And I had a nightmare.”

“Me, too,” Bruce confessed, settling the comforter around them again.

“I woke up crying for my mom,” Dick said, little in the night. “Sometimes I still forget when I’m not all the way awake.”

“I know,” Bruce said hollowly, like his heart had been carved out and stomped on by dirty boot tread. “I know, kiddo.”

“It helps that you’re here,” Dick murmured sleepily, his face buried in the pillow he’d made of Bruce’s arm. “Can we sleep in tomorrow?”

“Yeah, chum,” Bruce said, exhaling slowly and dropping a kiss on the crown of Dick’s head, in the midst of his curly tangles of hair.

If it helped Dick, if it made that impossible weight Bruce had carried for decades any lighter for the boy curled up against his chest, then Bruce could suffer a hundred moments of panic as a guardian, a thousand moments of grief and worry. Even if he was a father without really being a father; if he got to help Dick be less alone with that devouring grief.

If it helped, even a little, it was worth it.

“Dick?” Bruce nudged him slightly, to see if he was still awake. “I…”

“Love you, too,” Dick murmured. “Stop breathing funny on my head, it tickles.”

“Sorry,” Bruce laughed, blinking away the stinging salt. “We’ll sleep in as long as you want.”


End file.
